


Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors V

by days_of_storm



Series: Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Facial Shaving, It's an experiment!, John wants to cut Sherlock's hair, M/M, Sherlock's Hair, Showers, hobo Sherlock, secret kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: This is the annual birthday fic for Verity Burns <3Happy birthday, love! xx





	Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors V

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verityburns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verityburns/gifts).



“John, what it that?”

John looks up from the desk where he had been going through the evening papers, trying to find a case worthy of Sherlock putting on clothes other than his pyjamas and his dressing gown and actually leaving the house. It’s been a while and while John appreciates having Sherlock safely in bed every single night, he also feels a shower and a haircut might not go amiss. He’s really secretly hoping for Mycroft to show up and shame him into leaving the house. But the haircut, well, at least that is something he can take care of himself. 

“It’s a hairdresser’s set.”

“A what?”

John smiles sweetly at him and Sherlock's frown deepens. 

“Why?”

“Have you looked at yourself lately?”

Sherlock looks at himself in the mirror above the fireplace and looks slightly offended. John isn’t sure whether he really hadn’t realised how scruffy he looks or because John is being judgemental about it. 

“So, you thought of bringing in a hairdresser who has now mysteriously disappeared?”

John looks back down so that Sherlock cannot see how hard he is trying not to laugh.

“Go have a shower?”

“I had a bath just …”

John carefully looks up and sniffs, hoping that Sherlock will get the point. 

“Is that why you haven’t touched me at all lately?” Sherlock looks at himself again in the mirror, pushing the hair out of his face, scratching his chin. He was never good at growing facial hair and not even three weeks of not shaving brought him anywhere close to a beard. He sniffs, too. “Hmm.”

He strips off his clothes right then and there, but hesitates before he drops his pyjama bottoms. “Where is that hairdresser?”

John turns fully towards Sherlock and points at himself. 

Sherlock’s eyes go very wide for a second before he picks up his clothes from the floor and wanders off towards the bathroom without further ado. His behaviour makes John curious, so he follows him. Knocking carefully before entering, he hopes that Sherlock isn’t going to reveal some sort of phobia of scissors. He’s not worried about touching Sherlock’s hair, because he does that all the time. But something isn’t sitting right with Sherlock and he wants to know what it is. 

“Sherlock, you okay?”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Sherlock steps out of his pyjama bottoms and then raises one arm to smell himself and makes a face that only confirms John’s theory. Sherlock simply hadn’t paid attention to himself for the last few weeks and that is worrying. 

“You didn’t have a case. I didn’t want to trigger …”

Sherlock exhales slowly and touches his hair, rubbing his fingers and frowning. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, quietly, and John wants to hug him, but he would rather hug a freshly showered Sherlock than a smelly one so he doesn’t move. 

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“So you brought in a hair dresser’s set.”

“I figured I could at least suggest … something?”

Sherlock nods. “Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“I was stuck with something and … now it makes more sense.”

“Have a shower and I’ll bring in the set?”

Sherlock chews his bottom lip for a moment before he reaches for his tooth brush. At least he had kept to a routine concerning his teeth and he had regularly washed his face, which was the only reason John had not said anything about Sherlock’s slipping hygiene. 

“I should have consulted you, maybe,” Sherlock cocks his head, looking at John from inside the bathtub. 

“Consulted me? Sherlock, you are the one who is consulted.”

“I was … wondering.”

“About what?”

“About how long it would take Lestrade to make up a new case to get me out of the house.”

John stays where he is. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t like it when he needs to consult me, but he does like having me on cases. But, as every January, London’s criminals are taking time off. So, I figured that I could also take some time off. And I should have consulted you.”

“We could have gone on holiday,” John imagines a beach holiday with Sherlock and bites his lip to hide his grin. 

“But if Lestrade had known that we were not in London he might not have made up a case.”

“Which he didn’t.”

“Right,” Sherlock shrugs and turns on the shower and John sneaks out to grab the bag he had borrowed from his hairdresser. It had taken him some convincing before he was allowed to take it, and he had promised to show him a before and after photo, both times with Sherlock’s shirt off. The reason was that Sherlock had come along once when John had gotten a haircut because he had needed someone to talk to in order to figure out a case and John had really needed a haircut, so the compromise had been Sherlock coming along and talking continuously for the whole twenty minutes it took the hairdresser to tend to John. John had apologised after, but his hairdresser had ensured him that it was not a problem. When John had enquired about getting the set from him, his eyes had lit up in recognition of whom John was talking about. He had also offered his service, for free, but John knew that Sherlock would not agree to that as he only ever got his hair cut by a certain women Mycroft employed and John has never been privileged enough to see him getting a haircut. 

Walking back into the bathroom, John wonders why Sherlock had reacted so strangely to his proposition. 

“Sherlock, are you okay with me attempting to cut your hair?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock rubs shampoo into his hair and shrugs just when foam gets into his eyes and he rinses his face with a quiet curse. 

John knows he’s not as indifferent as he pretends, because when he straightens again John is able to suspect that somehow the thought of him cutting his hair turns Sherlock on. At least if Sherlock’s stiffening cock is any indication. 

“I mean, I don’t know how good I will be but I think you should at least be able to see out of your eyes, you know?”

Sherlock wipes his face and then follows John’s gaze down his own body. He inhales quickly, deeply, and turns around. 

“I did it a few times in the army. But we had hair clippers, so it was easier. And I don’t want to give you a buzz cut.”

Sherlock touches his head as if to check whether his hair is in fact still there. His hair is straightened now, showing how long it truly is. His fringe covers his nose and the hair in the back touches his shoulders. John suddenly regrets that he is going to cut it. He is sure that Sherlock would now be able to wear his hair like a regency era gentleman, with curls against his temples and a curly pony tail. Oh god. 

Sherlock is finally done with his shower and he awkwardly steps out of the bathtub and fishes a towel from a hook on the wall. John doesn’t tell him that it’s his towel and that he could get Sherlock a fresh one, but Sherlock doesn’t seem to care much. 

But there is one thing that John can do. He picks up Sherlock’s clothes and throws them into the laundry basket. Then he slips into the bedroom to get a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt for Sherlock, and a chair. 

“Put these on?” he asks when he returns to the bathroom, but then remembers his promise and tugs his phone out of his trouser pocket. “One second, though. Sit down?” He gestures to the chair and Sherlock frowns, but drops down and looks at John expectantly. 

“Is it okay if I take a photo?”

Sherlock pushes his hair out of his face. “What for?”

“A favour.”

Sherlock frowns and John really hopes that he will let him, because he looks adorable like this. His fingers itch to play with his hair.

“For the guy who lent me the set.”

“Oh, your hairdresser?”

John nods, biting his lip. Sherlock exhales, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine.”

He doesn’t smile, at least not at first, but when John makes an impatient sound and rearranges his hair a little, tucking a few strands behind his ear, he can’t hide a shy smile. 

John puts his phone away and steps closer, leaning down to kiss Sherlock – the first time in about aweek. He only realises how much he has missed kissing him when Sherlock pushes up into the kiss, one hand settling against the back of John’s neck to hold him close. 

“John?” Sherlock finally sighs against his lips and John moves away to be able to look at him properly. He can see that Sherlock is fully hard now and he’s not quite sure of his priorities anymore. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn't shower.”

John chuckles and twirls a slowly forming curl around his finger. “I should have told you to wash sooner.”

“I was wondering why you stopped touching me.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that your personal hygiene might be the problem?”

“No.”

“Were you really that concentrated on willing Lestrade to make up a case for you?”

“The days and night just sort of blended into one another and …”

John nodded. “And I was at work and not there to supervise you at all times?”

“You were always gone when I needed you.”

“Needed me?”

“Well … to touch you.”

“Oh, right.” John chuckles, but he knows what Sherlock means.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you not want to cut my hair right now?”

John quirks an eyebrow. Sherlock actually paid attention. “Well, now that I have seen you and your hair all nice and clean I think it’s a shame to just cut it off before I have played with it.” Sherlock makes a funny noise in the back of his throat and John is delighted. “And you want me to do exactly that?”

“Well,” Sherlock looks down on himself and impatiently pushes the heel of hand against his erection as if he wants it to stop distracting him. “Yes, please?” he finally said, looking back up at John. 

“Does it turn you on? I mean, the thought that I will be playing with your hair?”

Sherlock exhales slowly. “John. There’s a reason why I didn’t have it cut in a while.”

“Because you stopped looking at yourself in the mirror.”

“Not quite.”

“Because you stopped washing?”

Sherlock glares at him but his expression changes when he finds John smiling at him.

“It’s got nothing to do with me not washing.”

“So, it was intentional?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I … had been hopeful …”

John watches him over his shoulder while he rummages through Sherlock’s shelf to find his hairbrush. In all those years together he has never brushed Sherlock’s hair. 

“You were hopeful that I might suggest that I would cut it for you?”

Sherlock shrugs. “I haven’t had a haircut in a while. And I … really like it when you touch my hair.”

“I can see that,” John grins at Sherlock’s cock, which twitches with interest. Considering that they only kissed and spent the rest of the time simply talking since they had entered the bathroom, he is impressively hard. Well, John thinks, he also hasn’t come in three weeks, so that might add to his heightened state of arousal.

He takes the wet towel and wipes Sherlock’s back and neck before he begins brushing his wet hair, the shirt and shorts forgotten in the sink. And Sherlock actually purrs. At first John isn’t sure, but once he’s teased out the knots in Sherlock’s hair and he can pull the brush through without any problems, Sherlock purrs with pleasure. 

John is fascinated and stops for a moment to rub the towel across Sherlock’s head, but once he begins brushing again, Sherlock lets out a contented sigh and lets his head fall back. John smiles and leans down to kiss his forehead and his temples, nipping at his cold ear for a moment before he buries his face in Sherlock’s hair and inhales deeply. “I like your shampoo,” John says once he’s straightened up, using his fingers now to brush through Sherlock’s hair. It’s beginning to dry and the curls are coming back. 

“Are you cold?” he asks when goose-flesh spreads across his shoulders, arms and back, but Sherlock shakes his head. 

“I’m fine. Please continue.”

John doesn’t want to tell him that he’s finshed and that he should now get the comb and the scissors and get to work, but he can’t bring himself to do it yet. 

“What if I don’t cut your hair?” he finally asks, gathering Sherlock’s hair in a ponytail. He doesn’t have a hair band, but he’s sure he will find some string to hold Sherlock’s hair together. 

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock wants to sound relaxed, but his breath catches when John runs his fingers through his hair again and pulls a little. 

“You like this?” John asks, just to wind Sherlock up. 

“Hmm,” Sherlock hums, low in his chest. The sound resonates deeply with John and he feels himself growing hard. 

He pulls a few strands out of the ponytail he’s been holding with his right hand and lets them fall into Sherlock’s face. Then he moves around the chair to look at him. “Fuck,” he simply says, imagining Sherlock in a billowy, white cotton shirt and beige army trousers. He would have been the most dashing man on the battle field. Or anywhere, really. An explorer, cutting his way through the jungle with a large knife. A mountaineer, climbing rocks close to the peak of a mountain, full of pride at his own success. A postman, riding hard to bring people news from the city. 

It’s Sherlock’s amused expression that pulls him out of his fantasies. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but he knows that Sherlock has deduced what he is thinking. “What about … I cut it later?”

“And in the meantime?” 

“Well, you don’t have a case. So nobody would see you …”

“See me like what?”

“Looking so indecently handsome with your hair like this,” John offers and Sherlock laughs. It is the first time in three weeks that he has laughed, John realises, and suddenly he feels incredibly guilty for not forcing Sherlock into a different behavioural pattern sooner. 

He knows that Sherlock did shower every now and then, but he used to shave every day and now he looks like he is trying to go for a proper beard. He imagines him clean shaven, his dimple clearly visible when he smiles and he decides that he might not cut Sherlock’s hair today, but that he will give him a wet shave. 

“You stay where you are,” he orders and Sherlock’s eyebrows arch up. 

“Right,” he says and flattens his hands over his thighs. He hasn’t attempted to touch himself yet, but he is still as hard as he had been and John wonders how long he can keep himself in that state. 

John opens the little cabinet which holds their medicine, razors and Sherlock’s collection of soap bars which he had started to pick up whenever they investigated in hotels. For all John knows, he had never used any of them and kept them for when he might need to identify a certain soap in order to link the soap to a hotel, but as with so many of Sherlock’s planned experiments, he had never gotten around to it. 

John smiles at Sherlock through the mirror once he’s closed the cabinet and prepares the shaving cream. Usually they simply shave while they are in the shower, and more often than not they use shaving cream from a bottle, but he wants to draw this out, so he takes his time.

Once he turns around, the bowl with the shaving cream in one and Sherlock’s razor in the other hand, Sherlock seems entirely content to remain sitting in the chair, naked and all. 

“You’re really not cold?” John asks nevertheless, moving Sherlock’s clothes a little closer to him. He doesn’t want Sherlock to catch a cold, not after he didn’t leave the flat for so long, and John might have brought something home from the clinic. He needs to get out at some point, and staying at home because he is sick would make him insufferable. John decides to make him wear his hair up and then to take him out later. Because he does want the world to see Sherlock like this after all, if only to brag. 

“I’m fine,” Sherlock looks at John like he knows exactly what John is feeling right then and John hands Sherlock the cream before leaning down to kiss him thoroughly. 

“Good. Now hold still.” He slathers his face with shaving cream, and then begins to shave him slowly. He wonders if Sherlock would ever let him shave him with a straight razor and he immediately regrets the thought because he can see Sherlock’s eyes light up. 

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Sherlock smirks when John turns around to rinse the razor, but John doesn’t respond other than to continue silently. Sherlock’s hand settles somewhere above his knee and John forces himself to hold still. He is very glad now that he is using a safety razor and not a straight razor on Sherlock. 

He moves back and forth between Sherlock and the sink and each time he returns to Sherlock, Sherlock’s hand wanders higher. Once he is finished, Sherlock simply grabs him by the buttocks and pulls him close, leaning forward to nuzzle his erection through his jeans. He is also spreading the rest of the shaving cream across John’s crotch, which is probably the real reason for his daring move. 

John gently pushes Sherlock away and sighs at the sight of his middle. Well, he is definitely hard, and so is Sherlock, still. So, there is in fact no reason why he shouldn’t also get out of his trousers. He places the razor and the bowl into the sink and washes his hands. Then he returns to Sherlock to wipe at his face, even though he has been quite effective in getting rid of the rest of the foam. 

“Come and wash your face.”

“In that an order?” Sherlock smirks, but he does get up, his erection almost comically persistent. He grunts when he bumps it against the sink and once more simply tries to push it out of the way. It bounces back up as if to spite him and John has to giggle. While Sherlock is washing, he undresses and he is naked when Sherlock has finished drying his face. 

“Come to bed with me?” John asks, holding out his hand. 

“I won’t last,” Sherlock shrugs and takes it. 

“We have time, no?” John counters and Sherlock nods emphatically. He climbs into bed, but John stays where he is, looking around the room for something he can use on Sherlock. “Don’t move,” he finally says and quickly makes his way into the kitchen. He finds a rubber band, and, while knowing that it will be horrible to get out of Sherlock’s hair again, he is glad to have found something that will do for now. 

Once he is back in the bedroom, he kneels behind Sherlock, recreating the ponytail with a few loose curls to the sides and then he scrambles for his phone. After he has taken some photos, he simply looks at Sherlock for a while.

“You’ll have to get a haircut,” he finally whispers, slightly in awe of how looking at Sherlock like this affects him. “You can’t possibly be this beautiful.”

Sherlock frowns, but there’s a smile trying to break through. “Maybe I shouldn’t wash for a while every few weeks, because if this is how you react to me cleaning up, well, …” he stops and leans forward, pulling John down on the bed with him. 

And he’s right. As soon as John touches him, his breath catches and a few rushed strokes later, he spills over John’s hand. But that doesn’t stop John from touching and kissing him. He kisses him until he is sure that Sherlock will reconsider not washing for a couple of days, or a week, because John would most definitely not kiss him in those places if he hadn’t just showered. 

A little later, John makes love to Sherlock, and his hands keep returning to his hair, messing it up, finally pulling off the rubber band and effectively pulling Sherlock back from his orgasm when he squeals in pain for a moment. John apologises sheepishly, but Sherlock simply begs him to continue. So John fucks him from behind, two hands in Sherlock’s hair, pulling whenever either of them is getting too close. 

Finally, Sherlock orders him to come, and he does, helpless in the face of Sherlock’s voice and his quivering body around him. He presses his face against Sherlock’s back, gasping for breath, letting go of his hair in favour of holding on to his hips. And Sherlock drops down on the bed, almost there, but allowing John to come down from his orgasm. He pulls John into his arms and holds him for a while before he takes John’s right hand and pushes it into his hair while he places his left hand against his cock. And John is gentle with him, slowly stroking him to completion. 

They don’t go out that evening. They don’t go anywhere, really. They simply hold each other, sticky and sweaty and happy to finally share their personal space with each other again. They eventually drift off, but wake up in the middle of the night. John makes tea and starts a fire while Sherlock finds a remnant of a ribbon from a Christmas present and John binds his hair once more, taking another series of photos before they both shower quickly and then settle in front of the fireplace, naked, leaning against John’s chair, John wrapped up in Sherlock’s arms and legs. 

“Thanks for today,” Sherlock murmurs against John’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for not talking to you sooner.”

“I just ... didn't think about how it might effect you. And now I don’t understand how I couldn't.”

John chuckles and kisses his bicep next to his cheek. “I guess it means we’ve been together for so long that we can go for quite some time without dying to touch each other.”

Sherlock nuzzles John’s neck. “Is that us getting old?”

“Hmm, possibly. I still find you very attractive, though. Just, you know, clean.”

“Note taken.”

“I mean, I don’t mind a little grubby.”

“John. I was disgusting. I apologise.”

“I will have to cut your hair tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a feeling that London’s crime scene will get back into shape once the month is out and I really don’t think I could stand watching you solve a case with your hair like that.”

“Alright.”

“Does it really turn you on, getting your hair cut?” John needs to know more about Sherlock’s initial reaction. He’s still not quite sure what exactly it is that attracts Sherlock to that specific idea.

“Only if you do it.”

“I never have, though.”

“Doesn’t mean that I haven’t imagined it in the past.”

“So, it’s a kink of yours?”

“A very specific kink, maybe. Featuring you and your hands and a weapon that could potentially kill me.”

“Oh god,” John realises what Sherlock is saying and suddenly he is rethinking their entire relationship. “So shaving you was … close?”

“Hmm, well, I know you imagined something else earlier.”

“By god, I did,” John murmurs and Sherlock shifts a little. John can feel that he is hard against the small of his back. “My gun?”

Sherlock moans and John hides his face against Sherlock’s arm. “Oh god, you never said anything …”

“I couldn’t possibly tell you, John.”

“Yeah, I see why.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s …” John wonders if he’ll ever be able to unselfconsciously use his gun on a case, “fine.”

“Bed?”

John checks the time and groans. He has the late shift tomorrow, but even for that they are cutting it close. It’s past four a.m. “Sure.”

They don’t sleep until the sun rises, and John knows that he probably should call in sick today, because by the time they are having breakfast, John has found himself stopping and staring at Sherlock’s ponytail more often that he is willing to admit to himself. 

So, he sits Sherlock down in the middle of the bathroom, brushes his hair out again, and slowly begins cutting away at his curls. It is almost physically painful for him, but he gets to touch Sherlock’s soft hair and he runs his fingers through it much more often that it would be necessary to straighten his hair in order to cut it. 

Sherlock, meanwhile, is touching himself and once John deliberately runs the cold steel of the scissors along his throat he comes with a surprised shout. John barely manages to finish, but once he is done he is quite impressed with his work and Sherlock looks normal again, so he brushes loose hairs away from his neck and places a gentle kiss there. 

“I dare say you are ready for your next case,” he says once he’s put away the tools and turned back to look at Sherlock, who still sprawls on the chair, his come glistening against his stomach and thighs, his own hair scattered around him. “Well, once you’ve washed and gotten dressed,” John finishes with a grin. 

While Sherlock is in the shower, John receives a call from Lestrade, asking whether Sherlock had given any thought to the latest case since it had been a while since he had heard back from him. All John can do is laugh and enquire whether the case had anything to do with someone neglecting their personal hygiene and once Lestrade affirms his suspicion, John simply hangs up and joins Sherlock in the bathroom, making love to him in the shower before he forces him to tell him all about the case. 

At least, he thinks when he walks to work after having dropped off the hairdresser’s set and dutifully shown photos of Sherlock’s hair without his shirt on, he doesn’t have to feel guilty for not pressuring Sherlock to take a shower earlier than he had. Next time, though, he will ask after three days, just to make sure.

That night, when he returns home to a sleeping Sherlock, he picks up the ribbon from Sherlock's night stand and winds it around the butterfly knife which still fixes their mail to the mantelpiece in their sitting room.


End file.
